


New Song With the Same Old Chorus

by templefugate



Category: Coco (2017), Disney - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Disguise, Drabble Collection, Father-Son Relationship, Ficlet Collection, Gen, Murder, Poison, Role Reversal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-08 17:41:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14110635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/templefugate/pseuds/templefugate
Summary: Look inside a broken mirror and you might not recognize the face that stares back at you. In this world, Hector gains fame and fortune at Ernesto's expense.A series of interconnected drabbles in no particular order:1. What's better than a toast between friends?2. "Yes, it is I, Diego Rivera!"





	1. Tequila Sunset

**Author's Note:**

> Welp, I've become completely submerged in the Coco fandom. I'm more than a little obsessed, and my constant posting lately shows for it.
> 
> I love AUs, so of course I had to make fics for the reverse AU. While this was partially based on Tumblr fan art, I changed things up. This is my toy box, and I will play with my action figures as I please.

"You have to understand, Hector, mi familia needs me!"

"And I need _you_." If the rage burning in him never met his voice, it certainly filled his glare. There were serated knives duller than his gaze. "We agreed that this would be a two-man show."

"And it was!" Ernesto looked from his friend's face to the suitcase he clutched so tightly in his hand. "This was our last show, mi hermano. If I'm going to play, then it will damn well be on a full belly."

"And you will!" Hector stepped forward. "We played two encores tonight! Who's to say we won't have a packed house again next week?

"Or did you think you could just grab your half of the tips and run off while things were still going well?"

"Hector! You know I'd-"

"What? Waste an opportunity? As if you haven't been doing that for years!" He should have been screaming. Many times during the beginning of their tour, the cracked walls of the hotels they'd stayed in had been thinner than a street beggar's belly. There had been something strangely intimate about the arguments they'd overheard. It was as if the the enraged duo had wanted the rest of the world to partake in their misery, to enjoy a slice of their pain.

Yet unlike his songs, this was not something Hector wanted to share with the world. All the rage was Ernesto's alone to bear.

Not that he had to stay for it.

He'd held off the other man's heckling for years, pushed back possible tour dates with what had felt like all the strength in his body. His family had needed him. Perhaps they needed him now more than ever, Miguel especially. When he last left him, manhood had hung on the horizon. Who would guide his son when it finally came? What if it already had?

These questions had haunted Ernesto's mind for months. Now it was time to find their answers.

"Hector, I know the promise I made to you. There isn't a day I don't think about it. But I was young then, alone too-"

"You had me."

Ernesto wanted to respond, he truly did, but how could he compete with a man whose face alone spoke volumes?

"We had a dream, Ernesto. I thought by now you'd see that it was finally coming true."

What happened next seemed like something out of a dream. Hector's face relaxed, fists unballing. He reached for a row of bottles that lay arranged on a nearby dresser, whistling while he moved.

"And maybe it still can."

Ernesto moved towards the door. Whatever his friend's mood, he needed to catch the train soon unless he wanted a hard bench to be his bed that night.

"Leaving already?" Hector sounded as curious as a bright schoolboy during lectures. "I thought you'd at least like a drink before you left. There's so much to celebrate."

"What?"

Hector grinned, his bright golden front tooth gleaming in the gaslight. For years the space had been empty, a lasting reminder of his papa's tough swing and quick temper. He'd gotten it implanted sometime over the last few months, when money could finally cover more than their room and board. It was still strange to see.

"Oh, I just realized that we'd never had an official concert in Santa Cecilia." He picked up a light brown bottle, holding it up to his nose and taking a long sniff. His face tightened and he laid it down, hands reaching for a different one. "Maybe we should go back."

Ernesto's eyes widened. "Really?"

"Oh, it can't be forever, not if we want to get our careers somewhere. Still, it might do us some good to go back to our roots. I could certainly use the new song material."

"Really?"

"Aye, mi amigo." He held up a shot glass. "My apologies for being so hard on you."

"Oh, Hector, this is wonderful! Imelda and Miguel will be so pleased!" He paused suddenly. "But what about your things? The train leaves in thirty minutes, and even then we'll still have to buy you a ticket!"

Where Ernesto had barely filled a suitcase, Hector had taken enough items to fill a hut.

"I'll be arriving late." He leaned forward, and finally Ernesto took the glass from him. The sides were slick. "Though I imagine you'll need a few days to relax. During the mean time, you can get the word out that we're back, maybe find a place for us to play as well. With any luck, we might draw a good crowd."

Ernesto's chest, which only minutes before had been churning, was now light as a feather. His whole body seemed suddenly weightless, his insides warm.

"Truly?"

"Truly." Hector held his own glass out. "Cheers?"

Ernesto tapped his glass against Hector's before downing the tequila in one long gulp. When he finished, Hector was ready to offer a quick, firm hug.

"Send Imelda my regards."

"Pack quickly tomorrow and I'll let you tell her yourself."


	2. Man at the Crossroads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of course one of Mexico's most famous artists has an ofrenda photo or two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Worry not, dear readers, I know you worry that everyone might be out of character. I assure you that I am trying the best I can to keep everyone in character, while allowing some wiggle room since it's an AU. Hopefully it shows.

"How do I look?" Ernesto stepped out from behind the curtain, arms raised.

"Like a work of art," Jimena responded. "Your self-portrait did you no justice, Senor Rivera."

Ernesto gritted his teeth. "What do you really think?"

"Ijo de ken sos tu? That's the real question you should be asking." All the same, she stepped forward and began to fiddle with his suit, straightening his collar out and picking off lint from the sleeves.

"Is it believable?"

She only hummed in reply. Her hands turned to his hair, where she busily fretted over every stray lock.

Though a cool breeze had recently crossed the air, Dio de los Meurtos was still a moon away. Only a few houses and shops had decorations up. Alive, he had never been one for rehearsals, though now there seemed not much else to do to pass the days.

"You know, I've been thinking..."

"I didn't know you had it in you."

Ernesto's glare didn't earn so much as an eye roll.

"I thought that I might be taken more seriously if I had a companion with me." He paused, looking over her, but Jimena's face was as readable as flat braille. "A very special companion."

"An elephant can no more marry a dove than you can get me into one of those ridiculous costumes." She stepped away, heading towards a nearby full length mirror. It was completely covered by a cloth, even the wooden back. For a moment, she stared at the white fabric, her fingers firmly at her side. Ernesto sighed when she finally pulled it away.

It was rare to see himself but never an unpleasant sight. Ernesto smirked, flexing an arm. "Enough of your teasing - surely you are impressed by your handiwork."

"It was your idea." She narrowed her eyebrows. "I only helped you to save some other poor soul from the trouble."

"Jest all you like," Ernesto said, turning towards a nearby window. In the distance, he could make out the marigold bridge. It glowed with an inner light, petals fluttering as if of their own accord. The whole thing pulsed, as if beating against the tight gates that covered its entrance. "Something tells me that this could be the night."

"And if it is?"

"Hmm?"

"What then?" She sat down on the floor, her brown skirt spilling out. "If this fantastical scheme somehow works, what then?"

"I'll go see mi familia. What else is there to do?"

"Quite a lot, at least if word from the recently deceased is true." Her shoulders sagged. "Even I cannot help but be curious."

"Well wonder no longer! My previous offer still stands." He cocked his head and shot her a grin that took up half his face.

Her mouth tightened. "I told you before, I will not join you on your mad crusade. Besides, should this work... Well, your wife wouldn't want to find you with another woman, hm?"

Ernesto's smile melted away like chocolate in the sun.

She stood, patting his shoulder. "I would hope you'd change out of that outfit before heading home. What good is going back if your familia doesn't even recognize you?"

"I'll worry about that when I get there." He gestured his arms downward, his grin returning. "Aye, it is I, Diego Rivera!"

"Pack a pen - the guard might request an autograph."

Though it was carved upon no headstone, once his name had been Ernesto de la Cruz. Yet if it got him over the bridge, then for a moment he would let the world forget the twenty-seven year old no-name musician.

"You must admit, I pull it off quite well."

"Unless you want to further guarantee yourself a night in jail, I'd suggest you keep it on."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah, I'm sorry, but the flying priest fic is taking longer than expected. It will come eventually though.

**Author's Note:**

> The next few chapters will probably be from Hector's point of view. No spoilers, but I have two words for ya: flying priest.
> 
> Also, since Miguel is Ernesto's son in this fic, Coco is his great-great grand daughter.


End file.
